


The Tears of Tomorrow

by VORACIOUSpng



Category: Banana Bus Squad
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 15:17:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16410947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VORACIOUSpng/pseuds/VORACIOUSpng
Summary: "You're up early.""I thought you might want to hear my soothing voice this morning.""Oh." A sarcastic laugh, "You know me so well."In which two boys bond over a cheesy midnight drama.OR:The cringey and medically incorrect Krii7Y AU no one asked for but everyone's getting.





	The Tears of Tomorrow

The Nights were beginning to get cooler, so Smitty began trading out his summertime boxers ensemble for a more winter appropriate t-shirt and sweatpants combination. Right now, He lay on his bed, on top of all the sheets with his limbs spread out in every direction. Occasionally, he looked over at the screen of his phone as it sat haphazardly over the edge of the dresser next to him. It was nearing two-thirty in the morning and he was still awake. With a defeated sigh, he sat up and reached for the phone on his nightstand, as well as the red sticky note next to it.

His therapist, a kind but slightly over-invested man by the name of Ryan, had told him to call if the medication wasn't working and he couldn't find anything to put him to sleep. Well, that had been the case for as far back as he could remember their sessions going, and the meds hadn't ever worked.

Smitty had started seeing Ryan once a month in May, actually about his strange bouts of moodiness. He'd noticed a pattern of shutting himself off from his friends and family and decided that for once, he was going to face a problem head on before it really became prominent. Within their first couple of visits, Ryan ensured that they spent their time simply talking and just getting to know each other, as well as getting an understanding of how to navigate Smitty's problem.

Around his third visit, however, Ryan brought to light his deduction that Smitty's Season Affective Disorder (SAD) was the result his body to the different sunlight availability and lost sleep.

"Which is an easy fix," He'd laughed when he told Smitty of his hypothesis.

But it wasn't. Smitty wished he could just go to bed earlier and feel better about everything, but he couldn't. Luckily, despite three more visits with reportedly bad news on that front, Ryan did not lose faith.

"It's okay, Smitty," he'd admonished when the younger expressed his concern, "What's important is that you remain open about you options. Now, if you're alright with it, i'd like to start you on some Non-Benzodiazepine Hypnotics."

Unfortunately, those hadn't worked out too well either. The most they did was cause drowsiness during the day and make working harder for him. Accordingly, Ryan upped the dosage, and even prescribed stronger medications, but they all had similar effects. Even then, however, Ryan could not be dissuaded.

"Here," He'd mumbled as he scribbled down onto a small stack of sticky notes towards the end of their last meeting. He looked reluctant and frowned at the clock for a moment, holding the note in his hand as he considered, but in the end handed Smitty the square. "If at any time between now and our next visit you find any evidence of oncoming insomnia, just call me. Maybe we can talk through it, or at the very least, get a better idea of your brain processes during one of your fits." He began gathering his things, and Smitty idly noted the employment of another psychological technique: the way he stated every alternative as if there was always something to gain from something he man not really want to do.

Well, now was a time between their meetings, and Smitty saw some pretty clear evidence of insomnia. Although, he had been debating the real value of calling the psychologist at such an ungodly hour, Ryan had insisted it was better than him lying in bed alone all night, so he went ahead an typed in the number. The dial tone was loud in the silence of the night but he surprisingly didn't have to wait long.

"Hello?" came the raspy and somewhat confused voice on the other end, immediately striking Smitty with a pang of guilt for waking him up.

"Hey Doctor Wrecker, its me, Smitty. I'm sorry to wake you up, but you told me to call you if I was having trouble sleeping...and I am. So..." There was an anticipating quiet on the other end, during which he thought about how silly he sounded. Cringing only the slightest bit, he prepared to apologize and hang up, the voice spoke up again.

"Sorry dude, but I think you got the wrong number."

Oh.

Smitty froze and pulled the phone away from his ear to compare the number on the paper to the one he's typed in, but they were identical. Ryan must have accidentally given him the wrong number.

"Oh, my bad man. I'm sorry to wake you up." Smitty shook his head and prepared to hang up, thumb hovering over the End Call button, but he was interrupted once more.

"It's fine, you didn't." He said as though he'd known Smitty all his life. The sound of shuffling fabrics could be heard before the silence of stillness. "You said you couldn't sleep tonight?"

Smitty felt his eyebrows raise at the words, eyes falling to the window leading out of his apartment and into the city. A finger traces the edge of the sticky note as he thought, but eventually he shrugged and tossed it aside.

'What better do I have to do?' He thought.

"Nope. Haven't slept since I moved here."

Through the slight distortion of the phone he heard the guy click his tongue as he answered. "Sucks man. How long have you been here?...Wherever 'here' is."

"A year. And 'here' is America. I moved to about a year ago, but ever since then, I haven't been able to sleep properly." He sighed through his explanation and shifted into a more comfortable position. 

"Really? Where are you from? I didn't notice an accent."

Smitty opened his mouth to answer, but paused. Was he really about to give his whole life story up to a complete stranger? However, just as quickly as the thought occurred, it was dismissed. What was the harm? "I was raised in Canada, but I moved to California for my degree."

"Oh cool dude, my--" the guy on the other end continued, but the second half was drowned out by a terrorized scream that had to have been coming from a television. His assumption was confirmed by the loud ensemble of music following the shriek.

"What movie are you watching? I can hear it all the way over here." He said lightly, a smirk lighting his features as he heard the other laugh.

"I don't know actually. I turned on the TV right before you called and I just haven't changed it."

"Sounds Intense," Smitty sat up and turned as though speaking to someone in the room with him, the smile still upturning his lips. "Does it look interesting?"

"Well so far there's this girl who's crying every time she's on screen and the beginning of what might be a family reunion, so I don't really know."

Smitty chuckled and asked for a description of the woman, and that's how the man on the other end wound up narrating the rest of the movie, which turned out to be a rerun of a midnight soap opera, The Tears of Tomorrow. As they came to the realization, Smitty imagined the man would change it in favor of something more entertaining but he didn't. For just over thirty minutes, the guy narrated the show, adding his own commentary and cracking jokes about the characters as he saw fit. And Smitty didn't mind, as he also succeeded in making it interesting up until the ending credits rolled and the following infomercial aired and the guy said he had to get going.

Smitty couldn't remember the last time he'd wanted to tell someone not to go.

 

... ... ... ... ...

 

Work had been tiring. One of the new interns had decided not to come in on their first day, so Smitty had to fill in as makeshift secretary. He had never taken up so many sheets of paper with nonsense, and he was content to never do it again. It was one of their busier days as well; people ran in and out like ants with their orders in varying states of ready. Despite this, he still felt accomplished, even if he did stumble into his apartment hardly awake.

It was going on a week since he'd first met John, the guy who he'd accidentally called looking for his therapist, and they had spoken every night since then. And just as the thought occurred, he grinned and pulled out his phone, only for the smile to melt off of his face as he realized the time.

1:47 am.

This would be the earliest he'd ever called, and he had no idea whether John would even be awake or not. And come to think of it, he really had no idea what John did before or after they talked, of what kept him awake at night. He contemplated waiting about an hour more before calling, but in the end decided against it. If John wasn't awake, maybe he deserved a break.

"You're up early." He muttered, an audible smirk in his voice when he answered on the third ring.

Smitty felt his lips twitch to mimic the expression as he leaned on the counter, gingerly toeing off his shoes as he spoke. "Yeah, I thought you might enjoy hearing my perfect, soothing voice." He got a sarcastic laugh in response.

"You know me so well."

In the background, there was a thump and and the sound of glass clattering to the floor along with a muffled curse. "What are you doing?" he asked and made his way to the bedroom.

"Shit. I was painting my nails, but I just spilled my favorite blue on the floor."

Smitty paused just at the foot of his bed. Sometimes when John talked like this, he couldn't tell if he was kidding or not. "You paint your nails?" he asked to be sure.

"Yeah..." the reply was distant, like John had laid his phone down to clean up the mess, but not in the least bashful of ashamed.

"Oh." he stated and resumed climbing into bed. He thought back to moments before when he'd been wondering about John, and decided that this would be the time to get to know him. "Every night?"

"No. Not even regularly. But the old paint was chipping really badly and I have somewhere to be tomorrow." He was back closer to the phone as he sighed, and Smitty didn't know what to say for an awkward moment before John speaking again brought them back to their comfortable banter.

"But it's whatever," the sound of the small glass meeting the surface of a table punctuated his statement and precluded his next, "So are we watching a movie tonight, or more Tears of Tomorrow?"

"Tears of Tomorrow, dude, its our show." he smiled and leaned back against the pillows , waiting for Johns comically enthusiastic approval as he began narrating to opening.

They talked as usual, John taking the time to answer any questions he had. ("Wait, who's Lui again?" "Daithi's on-again off-again boyfriend dude, keep up.") But started slacking off as the episode progressed. At one point, all he got in explanation was a scandalized gasp and silence.

"What? What happened?" Smitty prompted.

"We're with Craig in the hospital. It doesn't look good."

"Dammit," he muttered under his breath, "Is Tyler there?"

"Nope, he's still off sleeping with Evan--"

"Craig's boss? That bastard!"

"I know!" John said, his voiced raised well beyond what was necessary, as he laughed at his out of character excitement. "I think we may be getting a little to into this."

Smitty blinked into the darkness with a laugh, but didn't directly reply. He wasn't ready to admit his growing addiction to their shared soap opera, but instead of having to answer, was asked a question.

"Hey Smit, you have a TV don't you."

"Of course, wh-- oh." Smitty laugh and hopped up to grab the remote. Why hadn't he thought of this before now?

"Yeah, that'll be easier than explaining everything to you."

Smitty smiled harder and switched to regular television, typing in the channel that was advertised between all the commercials John loved to make fun of.

 

... ... ... ... ...

 

"He's not gonna do it." Smitty whispered.

"He's gonna do it." John whispered back, sounding assured.

"No. There's no way." Smitty scoffed, "He raised him. He loves him. He's not gonna shoot him just because--"

And right on time, a single gunshot rang out. It could be heard in the background of both of their rooms as Smitty's eyes widened. He couldn't believe it. Scotty had really just shot his foster brother, Marcel. "No," he breathed, Marcel was one of his favorite characters, but so was Scotty, how could he have been so wrong about him?

On the other end of the line, John snickered. "I told you."

"That's so shitty," he began, but they both erupted into groans when the ending credits rolled.

Smitty saw no more value in pretending he wasn't addicted to the show. They hadn't bothered trying to hide it since the night he'd come home a little late and John had called him, urging as though his life depended on it that he turn on his TV. He even sometimes found himself talking to his coworkers about the character like they were real people. 

Although he sometimes got strange looks, he didn't mind as long as he got to come home to a late shift, make the quickest thing he could think of to eat, and talk to John as he relaxed. It was great. The past few nights when he called, they would go straight to talking about their days and watching The Tears of Tomorrow. It had only been three weeks but they were talking and teasing like besties.

Speaking of the such, John was talking right now, mentioning something funny about how fervently Daithi always said 'revenge is not the way' right before he tried to run over Luke (in the man's own truck no less) when Smitty nodded off. When he woke up four hours later, his phone was 12 percent charged and John had long since hung up. A little guiltily, he called the next night with an apology on his lips, but John acted as thought nothing had happened.

And so began the cycle of Smitty finally falling asleep when the sky went dark.

 

... ... ... ... ...

 

Smitty had missed two episodes of Tears of Tomorrow.

He'd agreed to go out with Fitz and a few other coworkers for drinks, and didn't come home for almost an hour after he'd expected to. He'd been feeling better lately, good even, and thought he should top it all off with a night with his friends. He'd had a pretty good time, but it would have been better if he wasn't so consumed with the thought of leaving John without an answer or explanation. He debated even calling at such a late time, but decided why not. If John was asleep, he probably wouldn't wake up.

Except, John was awake, and ready to fill him in on the missed set of episodes.

"Wait, so Jon and Luke are long lost brothers or something? But they don't even look alike."

"I know dude! Oh-- and it turns our that Brian was the one Brock was having the affair with."

"What!?" Smitty nearly yelled. "When did this happen?"

"Back at the big New Year's Party, the one Evan threw for the whole company."

"Whatever. I still think they waited 'til the last minute for that."

John laughed, and Smitty smiled.

"Anything else?"

"Mmm, Anthony's getting a brain transplant."

"Anthony? A brain Transplant? Are you serious?"

"Of course not," John giggled again, "But I kinda wish they would give him something crazy like that, you know? Anthony deserves more screen time."

"I guess I get that," Smitty shuffled further under the covers, "I mean, I don't think they characterize him enough for all this saving he does to everyone else."

"Exactly." John says in that unique way of his that stretches out the syllables and highlights the sounds Smitty never really pays attention to. "Hashtag Give Anthony His Own Episode."

Smitty felt his eyes drooping, but he didn't feel as guilty about being so tired since John would probably be off to do his own thing in a few. "More like 'Hashtag Give Anthony His Own Character Arc' to be honest."

He smiled at John's agreement and listened as the older started a rant about his favorite underappreciated characters. Now, Smitty was never one to brag, but he would happily report that he made it all the way until they both hung up to fall asleep.

 

... ... ... ... ...

 

"And honestly, I wouldn't really mind if they postponed season five if it meant they wouldn't have to replace my boy Lui. Having anyone else just wouldn't be the same." Smitty paused to level a pointed look at Ryan, only to see that he was no longer taking notes, but watching Smitty with a pointed look of his own. 

"What?" he asked when Ryan hesitated to speak.

"Nothing, you just seem to be in a pretty good mood is all" The psychologist replied with some difficulty around his smirk. He looked down and fiddled with his pen for a second before he continued, "Did something happen?"

Smitty narrowed his eyes at the suspicious tone and answers slowly, "Yeah actually. And, I forgot to mention it earlier, but you gave me the wrong number at out last meeting."

"Did I?" Ryan smiles widely, but tries to hide it behind his clipboard. It doesn't work, obviously. "My mistake."

Smitty tries to suppress a knowing smirk as he watches Ryan scribble a new number down on a new piece of paper with a minutely shaking hand. This one looked absolutely nothing like the one he'd received before.

**Author's Note:**

> Fixed some typos that had slipped by in editing the first time :)


End file.
